


Fairytale

by f0rever15elf



Series: 2020 December Writing Challenge [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Food mention, Other, Pedro Pascal - Freeform, starvation mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28997679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f0rever15elf/pseuds/f0rever15elf
Summary: Winter is cold and your family suffers. That is, until a handsome prince comes to sweep you away.
Relationships: Oberyn Martell / reader, oberyn martell /you
Series: 2020 December Writing Challenge [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2127273
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Fairytale

So many children dream of being swept away by a handsome prince, rescued from their lives to live a life of grandeur and extravagance. They dream of being loved and pampered and doted on as they glide through castle walls in elegant gowns. Or they ponder the taste of rich foods, always available for them without even needing to ask, so that their bellies never know the ache of hunger. But that’s all it is, isn’t it? A dream? A fairytale?

That’s certainly all it is for you. You don’t come from much, a poor family barely making it by with the food you’re able to grow and stow away for the cold months. Hunger is not unfamiliar to you, especially during the years of a blight. But you can’t complain, it’s all you’ve ever known. It’s good enough that you have a bit of food and some warmer clothes to tide you over till the snow melts. So many have so much less.

This is one of those years. The crop had been bad this year, taken by locusts that stripped your fields and left little time to regrow before the first frosts came, and what little you had managed to reap had been collected by the Lanisters’ tax collectors. Your family had food stored away for emergencies, but it was meager to say the least, and more often than not you would partition portions of your own food for your younger siblings. You could deal with the hunger, but it wasn’t fair that they should suffer if you had the ability to ease it. As the nights grow colder and the pain of hunger clenches in your stomach, your mother would sit with you and your siblings beside the fire and tell you stories of handsome princes and far away places. Of dragons and witches and valiant knights who saved princesses from their suffering. And when the candles were finally snuffed for the night, you would lay away and continue the stories, dreaming up your own fairy tales where your beloved prince sweeps you off your feet and takes you away. For just a moment, you forget the hunger, and you smile.

The cold finally takes a firm hold of your little village, chilling you to the bone in a way that makes your very soul ache. _It will pass_ you tell yourself. _It always passes._

It’s your turn to run errands today, the cold biting at your nose in a manner most painful. You keep your head down, your mind wandering to how it would be if that handsome prince would take you away from here. Would it be warmer where he takes you? Would it be magical? So lost are you in your thoughts that you don’t notice him before it’s too late, bumping against a solid person. You stumble back and nearly fall. You would have, had the man you bumped into not grabbed your flailing wrist as you teetered. Your cheeks burn as you look up at him, and whether that is from the biting wind or the embarrassment of your situation, you do not know.

“You should be more careful, little snowflake. That would have been a nasty tumble.” The man who speaks to you has such a rich voice, deep and resonant with an accent that sounds Dornish. You blink several times, looking up at him in shock, and you think he must be the most beautiful man you have ever seen. His features are sharp, his jaw lined with dark stubble leading up to equally dark hair that bears streaks of grey. His eyes crinkle with mirth around the edges, a twinkling light in them that reminds you of the stars. He wears thick, flowing robes of golds and yellows that scream of a class so far above your own that you try to shrink back, averting your eyes. Surely he must be royalty.

“Forgive me, my lord,” you mumble softly, embarrassment gripping your heart in its talons.

“Forgiven and forgotten, little snowflake. Come now, let me look at you.” A gloved finger rests under your chin, lifting your face so he may see it. The smile he gives you is so gentle and kind that you feel your heart stutter in your chest. “What is your name, pretty one?” In a quivering voice, you tell him, and he smiles wider as he tests it on his tongue. “It suits you. I am Prince Oberyn Martell.” Your blood turns to ice in your veins.

 _The Red Viper of Dorne_.

“M-My Prince, I am so terribly sorry!” You tremble in his hold, fearing for your life. You had heard great and terrible things of the Red Viper, of his unpredictable and ruthless temper, and now you had crashed into him. “Forgive me, I was not watching where I was going.” You cast your eyes down once more, awaiting admonishment, but all you hear is Oberyn’s gentle laugh as he allows his knuckles to brush your cheek.

“Dear one, I said it was forgiven and forgotten. Come now, allow me to escort you home, hm? It is quite cold today. You should be inside by a fire.”

“I-I couldn’t impose on you. It is indeed cold and we have so little at home, we could not accommodate someone of your stature in a manner that is acceptable. The year’s harvest was so terrible, and the tax collectors so cruel, we have barely enough for ourselves.” Oberyn’s lips turn down as you prattle, concern laying a heavy blanket over his heart.

“Do many here suffer as you suffer?” His question is genuine, and it draws your confused gaze back up to him.

“Y-yes my Prince. There is so little here already, the land lacks water and richness, and the Lanisters tax us so heavily there is hardly any crop left for us at the end of the season on a good year.” The frown deepens into a scowl at the mention of the Lanisters.

“I will see to it that that changes. Come, let me see your home. I must see how you and your people live here.”

“My Prince, I-”

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “Snowflake, I insist.” Who are you to say no to a prince?

“I…. Yes, my Prince. But first I have some things to buy here.”

“Give my man a list, he will get them for you.” With the wave of his hand, he summons another man who bows once reaching Oberyn’s side. “I shall pay for anything you may need.” Any words you might have had, die on your tongue as you are taken with shock. “Go on, snowflake, whatever you may need.” He rests a comforting hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently, and with the reassurance, you rattle off your tiny list. Before the man leaves, Oberyn whispers in his ear, and then with a nod the waiting hand is gone. “Now, to your home, snowflake.”

~~~~~

“I am deeply regretful that we have nothing more to offer you, my Prince.” You sit with your head bowed and your hands in your lap as you sit next to Oberyn, your mother apologizing profusely. With a smile, he waves off her apology, lounging before your fire like the ratty and worn blankets are the most comfortable things in the world.

“You have offered me all you have, I cannot think of a more generous offer.” Your mother grows shy at his praise, retreating to sit by your father, your younger siblings at their feet. “Your child has informed me of the state of the town under the hand of the Lanisters. I would like to tell you that I have every intention of fixing that, and improving the standing of this little hamlet. There is such beauty here, and I should like to visit more often.” The prince reaches out to rest his hand on your thigh and your heart speeds up in your chest, in no way missing the gesture nor the double meaning in his words. The gesture does not go unnoticed by your parents either, who share a glance and subtle nod.

The afternoon is pleasant, the mood greatly lightened when the waiting hand arrives with the groceries you requested, along with several other goods that Oberyn insists are gifts, despite your parents’ protests. The hand had even managed to find some sweetmeats, which must have cost a fortune here. Your siblings clamor for the treats, your mother trying your best to keep the kids from fighting over them. It isn’t long till night begins to fall, the sun sinking low in the sky as Oberyn stands to leave. He takes your hand as you guide him to the door, squeezing it gently in his gloved one as he smirks down at you.

“I have a proposition for you,” he all but purrs, reaching up to stroke your cheek with the knuckles of his free hand. The touch sends a shiver down your spine. “Come with me to my palace in Dorne. You’ll be safe there, warm. You’ll never know hunger nor want again. I’ll provide for you anything you may need.” The fairy tales your mother spends the night reciting to you play in your mind. Here is your chance, the opportunity for you to be whisked away by your handsome and charming prince. So desperately do you want to say yes until you look back over your shoulder at your family gathered around the fire, the little ones listening to your mother’s tales once more. Oberyn follows your gaze before letting out a small hum. “I will see to it that they are taken care of, and you will be free to visit whenever you so choose. We can even entertain them at the palace from time to time. The little ones will have full bellies.”

It sounds… too good to be true. Like a true fairytale. Surely you must be asleep. “My Prince… am… am I dreaming?” It’s barely a whisper, soft and so full of hope.

“It is no dream, little snowflake. I wish for you to return with me, to be by my side.”

“And… and you promise that my family and my village will be cared for?”

“You have my word. And a Dornish Prince always keeps his word.”

You give your family one more glance before looking back to the handsome prince. “Then… I will come with you, my Prince, if that would please you.” He gives you a gentle smile, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead before calling his hand to prepare you for your leave.

You had grown up on fairy tales, stories of princes swooping in to rescue the person of their affections. They had seen you through many a bitter cold night, until the day your prince finally came for you. That day, the fairytale you would dream nearly every night, finally came true. Now, you live in shimmering, flowing gowns of the softest materials, indulging in rich foods and never again knowing hunger nor want. You lay your head upon down pillows and silken sheets as the sea breeze blows through the open bedroom windows, your limbs tangled with Oberyn’s after the throws of passion. Your fairytale prince, your lover, your Oberyn. 


End file.
